When My Alpha Let Me Lose Our Child for the Pack

The scent of wolfsbane was subtle—a bitter undertone beneath the sweet fragrance of Azalea's perfume as she entered the Alpha suite. I watched from the shadows of the adjoining room, my heart pounding against my ribs. She moved with practiced precision, her manicured fingers measuring drops from a small vial into Alistair's evening tonic.

"Just a little more," she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible. "Enough to make him see reason."

The liquid shimmered with an unnatural sheen as it dissolved into the amber liquid. Wolfsbane—the one substance that could penetrate an Alpha's natural defenses, heightening aggression while dulling rational thought.

I should have felt something—fear, perhaps, or outrage. Instead, a strange calm settled over me as I observed her treachery. My wolf, so long dormant in her grief, stirred slightly within me.

Azalea's eyes darted to the door as she heard Alistair's heavy footsteps approaching. Quickly, she set down the vial and stirred the tonic with a silver spoon, her smile serene as she prepared to serve poison to the man who had once been my world.

"Perfect timing," she purred as Alistair entered. "Your evening refreshment."

I slipped away before they could discover me, my mind racing. For months, Azalea had been whispering in Alistair's ear, turning him against me with honeyed words and calculated manipulation. Now she was escalating—using wolfsbane to ensure his complete compliance.

---

The next morning, I woke to the sound of splintering wood. Alistair burst through my bedroom door, his eyes wild with a fury I'd never seen before. Behind him, Azalea lingered in the hallway, her expression a mask of false concern.

"There you are," he snarled, his voice distorted by rage. "The traitor in my own bed."

I scrambled backward on the mattress. "Alistair, what are you—"

His hand shot out, gripping my hair with such force that tears sprang to my eyes. "Don't lie to me!"

He dragged me from the bed, my body bumping painfully across the floor as he pulled me toward the vanity. With his free hand, he yanked open the drawer and thrust a stack of papers before my eyes.

"Tactical maps," he growled. "Patrol schedules. Territory boundaries. All in your handwriting."

I stared in horror at the documents—forged to look like my work, but with details only someone intimate with pack security would know.

"A burner phone," he continued, producing a cheap device from beneath the papers. "Used to contact Rogues beyond our borders."

"I didn't—" I began, but his grip tightened, silencing me.

"And this," he hissed, pulling out a small pouch of wolfsbane. "Planning to poison me next?"

My blood ran cold. Azalea had been thorough—planting evidence that would condemn me completely.

---

The main hall fell silent as Alistair dragged me down the grand staircase, my body colliding painfully with each step. Pack members gathered in horrified clusters, their whispers falling away as we appeared.

"Bring her forward," Alistair commanded, his Alpha voice reverberating through the space.

Two Delta warriors seized my arms, forcing me to my knees before the assembled crowd. Visiting dignitaries from neighboring packs watched with undisguised fascination.

"Sarah Peterson," Alistair announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Former Luna of the Silver Claw Pack."

Former. The word struck me like a physical blow.

"I find myself in the unfortunate position of revealing treason within our midst," he continued, pacing before the crowd. "For months, our pack has suffered setbacks—territory disputes, resource shortages, failed negotiations."

He gestured to the documents spread across a nearby table. "All orchestrated by this woman."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I tried to speak, to defend myself, but Alistair's Alpha aura pressed against me like a physical weight.

"My father died bringing supplies to save this pack!" I managed to gasp out. "Everything we had—"

"Silence!" Alistair roared, his Alpha Command crushing against my vocal cords.

I felt something tear inside me as the command took hold, rendering me mute.

"The evidence is irrefutable," he declared. "She has betrayed not only me, but every member of this pack who has suffered while she conspired with our enemies."

With ceremonial slowness, he approached me. His fingers found the Luna insignia pinned to my dress—the silver crescent moon that had marked me as his mate, his equal.

"This title," he said, tearing it from the fabric with such force that threads snapped. "This honor you have disgraced."

He threw the insignia to the floor between us.

"Sarah Peterson is hereby stripped of her Luna title and all privileges therein," he proclaimed. "She will be confined to the silver-lined cells until dawn, when she will face execution or exile as a Rogue."

The Delta warriors hauled me to my feet. As they dragged me toward the dungeon entrance, I caught a glimpse of Azalea's face—her perfect mask slipping just enough to reveal the triumph beneath.

And in that moment, as darkness closed around me, something inside me hardened into resolve. If I survived this night, there would be a reckoning.